it LIBRARY OF CONGRE SS. I| 



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! UNITED STATES OF AMKKICA.! 



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THE 



BATTLE OF FRANKLIN, 

THE LITTLE GIRL AT SPANISH FORT, 



OTHEE POEMS. 



JAMES Mccarty Oliver. 




PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

187 0. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in tlie year 1870, by 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



PEEFACE. 



It is impossible, in presenting this little volume 
to the public, that I should not entertain some 
concern as to the manner of its reception; in- 
deed, I believe that an expectation of some kind- 
ness and favor is a natural element in the mind 
of any writer, whether of prose or poetry, who 
feels, from the consciousness of originality in his 
thoughts and sentiments, any title, however small, 
to the consideration of his fellow-men. I will, 
therefore, not attempt to conceal the fine gratifi- 
cation it would afford me for any composition of 
mine to attract the attention of fine-hearted la- 
dies and gentlemen ; but, while I am thus so open 
to avow the satisfaction which would arise from 
the favorable notice of those who love the play- 
grounds of the poets, and who pause to catch even 
the slightest palpitations of the breathing Muse, 

(3) 



4 PREFACE. 

I am, nevertheless, free to confess my supreme 
and concentrated contempt for the opinion of that 
other more numerous class of persons whose judg- 
ments have been so perverted by silly bigotry, or 
whose avarice has given such metallic heaviness 
to passions, otherwise glowing and elastic, as to 
render them utterly incapable of being moved by 
any expression of thought, however heroic, pa- 
thetic, generous, or noble. This world, with its 
multitudinous beauties ever showering like star- 
beams, snow-flakes, and flowers, as well as human 
happiness, as developed and perfected in the lofty 
association of intellectuality, sentiment, and feel- 
ing, is in vain for them. Like the senseless sea- 
weed that holds its useless existence in the ever- 
troubling ebb and flow, so they, to no purpose, 
toil and live in the tide of men but to perish from 
the earth alike unknowing and unknown. With 
these I profess to hold nothing in common ; and, 
so far as subsidiary to any idea of respect, not 
even the slightest anxiety to please. With the 
humblest estimate of my small abilities, I have 
written only for those who love the poetic princi- 
ple, and who are ever ready to encourage it, 
whether discovered gleaming in meteoric splen- 



rREFACE. 5 

dor or faintly shining as in the infinitesimal 
scintillations of the smallest diamond. AVhat- 
ever may be the case, and however the circum- 
stances may convolve, I shall at least consider 
myself more than highly rewarded if my little 
book, even for one brief hour, should become the 
companion of those who love the measures of the 
rhymers — those who have felt their hearts leap- 
ing to their mouths at the first warm whispers of 
passionate love, been filled with enthusiasm at the 
roar of the battle, gazed in rapture at the thousand 
twinkling eyes of twilight, or worshiping now at 
the altar of innocent childhood, melted into tears at 
tender tales of virtue and distress. Such hearts 
as these are the friends of misfortune, and at once 
constitute, by an electrical continuity of commu- 
nion, all that is beautiful, brilliant, pathetic, lovely, 
and sublime in the society of generous and expan- 
sive refinement. And, to conclude, I would con- 
gratulate them here that they wear the badge of 
perpetual youth and shall be young forever; for 
the flowers of sympathetic feeling, which the sun- 
shine and tear-drops of Nature nourish, are ever 
green, and the bosom in which they spring can 
hardly surrender them even in death ! Or, in the 



6 PREFACE. 

more beautiful and expressive language of the 
poet Wordsworth, — 

My heart leaps up when I behold 

The rainbow in the sky ! 

So was it when my life began, 

So is it now, I am a man. 

So let it be when I grow old. 

Or let me die ! 

Lake, Miss., Sept. 23, 1869. 



OOE^TENTS. 



PAGE 

The Battle of Franklin 9 

The Sailor Boy's Reply 25 

Miss Katurah's Novelette . . . . . ' . .30 

The Little Girl at Spanish Fort 33 

The Miser 35 

The Shipwreck 37 

The Lesson of the Little Maid 39 

I cannot Love but One ....... 41 

Verses on the Death of an esteemed Lady Friend . . 44 

My Mother Dear, 'tis Thee ! 45 

The Heart of the Baby Lady 47 

Monticello 49 

Lord Byron's Lament ....... 51 

Ah ! Well I do Remember ! 53 

To Hattie 55 

The Song of the Rocky Mountain Hunter . . . .67 

To Gussie 59 

A Summer Invitation to Miss Alice ... . . 61 

I Remember the Time 63 

On the Fall of Herbert Warren 65 

The Setting Sun 67 

The Specter Name 69 



CONTENTS. 



To Blanche 

To Stella 

On the Fall of Capt. Gill Holland . 

To Fascinating Phebie, of Huntsville, Ala. 

AVritten in the Album 

To the Same ..... 

An Acrostic ..... 

The Gentle Stream that Sweetly Stole 
Written in an Album 
Oh ! Ne'er let thy Soul be Desponding 
Lines ...... 

My Soul would Drink of Music Now 
Verses ...... 

Oh ! how Joyous is my Dreaming . 

The Rose 

I'll Keep my Heart for Thee . 
Come ! Come, my Claud ! 
Oh ! If that Crimson Bird can charm 
Where the Winds are AVailing Sadly 
A Reply to the Call of Conservatism 
Notes 



PAGE 
71 

72 

73 

75 

76 

77 

78 

79 

85 

87 

88 

90 

92 

94 

96 

97 

98 

100 

102 

103 

104 

107 



THE 



BATTLE OF FRANKLIN. 



(9) 



DEDICATION 



THE BATTLE OF FRAI^KLIK 



Col. Bush Jones, 

Marion, Ala. 

CoLOXEL, — Allow me to express the proud delight which I 
now feel, in dedicating The Battle op Franklin to you; 
thus giving some public testimonial of my continued apprecia- 
tion of the many kindnesses at your hands, which falling on 
my heart, while incandescent and malleable from the fires of 
battle, secured a weld of friendship without a flaw. May your 
whole life be an unbroken scene of pleasurable enjoyment and 
happiness, augmented and magnified to its very close by the 
elevating companionship of generous industry, in the pursuit 
of contentment and virtue: and, as your career through the 
late civil war developed to your brother officers every brilliant 
and dazzling characteristic of the Southern Hero, may your 
future footsteps in the paths of peace give a dignity over- 
flowing with beauty and vitality to what is meant by that 
familiar but potent appellation — Conservative Citizen. Again, 
my dear Colonel, with the assurance of my lasting friendship 
and regard, I have the honor to be, very respectfully, your 
obedient servant, 

The Author. 

Lake, Miss., Sept. 23, 1869. 

(11) 



mit §attlc at Inmfdin, 



DEAR are the memories of the past; — 
Of fields where heroes breath'd their last! 
Led on by Freedom's glowing gaze, 
They boldly braved the battle's blaze; 
To Glory's giddy heights they press'd, 
Receiv'd their crown, and there they rest 
Honor'd and loved! — while 'long the clouds, 
Perhaps, their spirits walk in crowds — 
Smiling starlike down, and telling 
Unmeasur'd joy of Virtue's dwelling ! 
Miltiades! how many a soul, 
Millions on millions, dost thou control? — 
Still kindling them with deeds, which thine, 
'Rose, proud and pluck'd from Persia's line! 
Yes ! patriot' glow of mighty soul 
Shall live while earth and ocean roll; 
And when convulsive Nature dies, 
'Mid crackling worlds and crumpling skies, 
In fresh'ning vigor, once again, 
'Twill hive in heaven, and there remain! 
For it was sealed a gift to man 
Ere the bright sun his course began ! 

2* (13) 



14 THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN. 

Yes ! when God ordered in his thought 

The grand creation which he wrought, 

And set the long schedule of time ; — 

He saw the tyrants, in their crime 

Of red ambition, gorged and crown'd 

O'er purple years and people bound. 

And moving in Omnipotent Heart 

He fixed the ever-vital flame 

As Virtue's cheering counterpart ! 

There are no odds ; it gilds the same 

The Grecian, Roman, Native name ; 

On land, or sea, in every clime. 

The genuine spark lights up sublime ; 

For Freedom makes all hearts akin. 

Within whose depths her home hath been ; 

And pours the essence of her prayer 

About them like the breathing air! 

Thus it hath been, and still shall be. 

Till chains are broke, and limbs are free ; — 

Till in the Tropics, and in the Snow, 

All Earth shall own the lofty glow ; 

And every nation, 'neath the sun. 

Worships some mighty Washington! 



II. 



'Twas on the Harpeth's bloody marge, 
Our comrades made the daring charge : 



THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN. ]5 

With steady tramp and deaf'ning yell, 

They braved the hissing ball and shell 

That thickly through the darkness fell : 

With front as firm as e'er the shore, 

The tumbling billows lay before. 

Through thunders rolling everywhere, 

And lightnings leaping in the air. 

Which made the rattling ridges glare, 

Still, bravely onward did they press 

Like heroes, who but seem'd to guess 

Of passing Death's defile, or die. 

To make a path for Liberty ! 

Two lines of works our comrades won, 

And, now, the Foeman had but one. 

Along this line, still thickly lying. 

He boldy sent his death-shots flying, 

While nobly rushed our gallant Braves, 

Some won the works — some found their graves ! 

Here you might see, where patriots fell 

For native land they loved so well! 

Brave comrades lying 'long the ground. 
Where Glory's hands had lain them down. 
And you might mark here, in your min'. 
The waving, rallying, charging line ; — 
Like attitude, in every form, 
Behold, in all, who braved the storm ! 
For they fell still pointing to the foe — 
Each bravely daring first to go ; — 
Their guns still clinch 'd in lifeless hand, 
As if about to do command : 



Ifi THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN. 

As if in all, the single thoug-ht, 

Of common action, just had wrought. 

And you might see like twilight sky, 

A light subdued in every eye, 

As though each heart, the bloody while, 

Was cheer'd by Honor's sweetest smile. 

To know they'd found, what next they'd crave 

To Victory — a Soldier's Grave ! 

Heroes of the Ranks ! ah, who can tell ? — 

How in that redly throbbing hour, 

Ye shouted in the leaden shower, 

Or how fearlessly ye fell 1 

Your names are written on the roll 

Of those approved the " Grand in Soul !" 

Uncounted centuries before 

Your patriot hearts devotion bore, 

Your lot was cast to find the fate 

Which God had granted for the Great ! 

The ceaseless years that roll away 

Can never dim the meteor' ray 

With which you lit that glorious day! 

The harvest, teeming by your side, 

Your posts of Honor cannot hide ; — 

All Time ! shall see the sacred spot 

Where herb and seed are planted not — 

Save flowering beauties, which your fair 

And virtuous sisters scatter there! 

And friend and foe, in reverence bound, 

Alike, your graves shall gather 'round. 

Exclaiming — " These, yes ! these are they 

Who won the field upon that day! 



TEE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN. I'J 

These are they who, with wild huzzahs, 
Charg'd champions of their country's cause, 
And bravely bore their bleeding South 
Above the blazing cannon's mouth !" 



III. 



But to return : The reeking wrath 
Of battle paused not in its path. 
The field was bloody, but the most 
Of carnage that dark line can boast, 
Where the Locust Grove still thickly stands 
And lifts on high its leafless hands : 
Here, stricken limb and ball-scarr'd form, 
Proclaim the climax of the storm ! 
Along this grove did many a brave 
Find — ah ! what all must find — a grave ! 
Here Clebourne charged, while his big heart 
Revenge and Valor strove to part : — 
Ambition's royal light did shine 
Bright from his eye, as 'gainst the line 
He led his brave and gallant men. 
Who never knew a fear, and then, 
Prince of Southern Braves, he fell 
Where — and where ? — The World shall tell 1 
Here, 'midst the mighty carnival, 
Granberry heard the martyr's call ; 
And leaping o'er the purple tide, 
"That wildly gushed from side to side, 



18 THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN. 

With plumes as spotless as the snow, 

And triumph beaming from his brow, 

He loudly answer'd to his name, 

And fixed his fellowship with Fame ! 

Here, too, proud Carter — having dared 

The very lightnings as they glared — 

A moment gazing from the verge 

Of valor, made his last grand surge : 

Like as I have seen, on frowning height, 

The well-worn eagle hoard his might, 

As mustering clouds multiplied the storm, 

Whose thundering strength still assailed his form, 

Then, all at once, kindling with th' unconquer'd 

fire 
That burnt the wild bosom of his cliff-born sire. 
Spread his broad wings for the loftier sky 
And dash with wonder every gazing eye ! 
Here passed the gallafit Gist — and Strahl — 
And Adams, valorous as them all : 
Like some old hero grand in song 
On battle-steed, the war-clouds 'mong. 
He swept that fiery marge along, 
Far to the front of his command, 
Recheer'd the charge and waved his hand. 
Then, 'gainst the rampart's reeking side 
Plunged, like a thunerbolt, and died 1 
Here many fell ! — But above the rest. 
Who in this stormy grove have press'd. 
One sleeps, for whom the softest line 
Should flow and fairest garland twine ; 



THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN. 19 

For he fell in the clear, familiar yard 

Of his native home ; on the sloping sward, 

Where it is said, three years before, 

A soldier stepp'd from his mother's door. 

He paused, to take a long, last look 

On forms that in his heart he took; — 

With a throbbing breast and a changing cheek, 

To his mother, one last farewell speak ! 

Brave soldier, rest ! The world around 

Could not afford you sweeter ground. 

Here first your eyes did drink the light 

Of your native clime, so fair and bright ; 

Here was your heart ; your mother's home ; 

And here, the quiet, little room. 

Where first she clasped your infant hands 

And taught you what our God commands, 

Or with a kiss of anxious care 

She heard you lisp your little prayer ! 

Happy hero ! Beside you rest 

Your comrades, altars, all loved best! 

Old Harpeth, on whose banks you lie, 

Still spreads his copy of the sky ; 

Or, now, all trembling in his bed 

With joy, he lifts his watery head, 

And conscious of his mighty fame, 

Goes sounding onward with your name ! 

The dear old grove, though scarr'd by ball. 

Still bears its branches 'bove you all 

And winds, as sweet as the voice of Hope, 

Shall softly woo the gentle slope. 



20 THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN. 

Till Nature, from her dewy wing, 
Fair daisies o'er your beds shall fling. 
Brave soldier, rest ! — 'ueath the Locust rest !- 
Though 'twas in vain you bared your breast, 
Ambition, Honor, Tirtue, Love, 
Like sentinels surround the grove, 
And guard, with never-ceasing care, 
The quiet sleep of heroes there ! 



OCCASIONAL POEMS. 



3 (21) 



DEDICATION 



O00ASIOE"AL POEMS. 



Mr. William A. Flowers, 

Smith Co., Miss. 

My dear Friend, — In dedicating to you my "Occasional 
Poems," I avail myself, through your kind permission, of 
that advantage and consideration, which the use of your 
virtuous name would, alone, secure for their publication. 

Our intercourse, since the first moment of our acquaintance, 
has been a continuity of mutual friendship and esteem; as 
well as an unfailing source of gratification and pleasure. 

To one like yourself, ever alive to the finest impulses which 
animate the human heart, it is unnecessary for me to say more 
than that you have my truest regard, and most appreciative 
consideration. May your future, ever cheered by the society 
of your estimable lady, amid all the undulations of fortune, 
which wait upon human life, be still as serene, as happy, and 
as pure, as some quiet lake, which nestles itself in security 
even among the mountains, and forgetting the storms, which 
fret the world, passes the placid hours of its existence in 
reflecting the very face of heaven, and the wisdom of its 
Creator. 

Your true friend. 

The Author. 
Lake, Miss., Sept. 23, 1869. 

(23) 



%\t Mhx log's llcplg. 



IT was a bright-eyed Sailor Boy, 
Alone on yonder strand : 
A ship he drew, 
Her sails, her crew, 
Down in the sand 
With his right hand. 

And wrote — " The Belle of Ocean's Blue — 
To sail for Fairy Land !" 

I laughed to see the Sailor Boy, 

His bright blue eye now beam with joy, 

As he would giv,e command, — 

" Swing anchor clear — now heave — ahoy! 

Shift the sails 

To grasp the gales, 

And lightly leave the land !" 

The laugh heard he ; — 

He raised his eye, 

A blush suffused his face, 

And from the sand. 

With his right hand. 

The ship he did erase. 

" Sailor Boy, why from the sand 

Did you the ship erase ?" 

3* (25) 



26 THE SAILOR BOY'S REPLY 

His curling-, clustering hair with grace 

He shook from off his honest face, 

And fair he looked at me, — 

Then dropped his eye, as if just then 

His youthful mind a doubt did ken, 

Whether I wished to laugh again, 

Or chide his boyish glee. 

Again I asked — "Why from the sand 

Did you the ship erase ?" 

Quoth he — " sir, 

As my mother, 

I love the boundless sea — 

I love on waves to roam, 

I love the wild winds whistling free, 

Through rattling sails, the sea — the sea- 

sir, it is my home !" 

Said I — " But stand. 

Survey the land. 

How charming eastward ! look ! — 

Behold the hills, the red sun screen, 

The length'ning slopes of living green, 

The lake, the ferns, the fence between. 

And there the babbling brook : 

Oh ! see how pleasing every scene. 

Forget this stormy sea. 

Dare death no more for islands green, 

But lord the land with me I" 



THE SAILOR BOY'S REPLY. 27 

He threw his glance upon the scene, 

Then turned with eyes of joj, 

And there to me, 

And thus to me, 

Spoke out the Sailor Boy ! 

" O sir, 'tis sweet to view the lake — 

The hills, the brook, the ferny brake, 

'Tis sweet to see the round sun rise, 

And paint with red the eastern skies ; 

But sweeter far, 

To me, the star 

That kindles trembling o'er the deep, 

Like light-house in the sky. 

When Tempest comes with fearful sweep 

And calls the Waves 

From ocean's caves 

To march them mountain high ! 

" Oh ! sweet to me is every change, 

However calm or wild or strange ; — 

The sudden smack. 

When black clouds crack. 

The lightning's flash between, 

Or the calm hue 

Of ocean's blue. 

When clouds have fled 

To their distant bed, 

And smiles the sky serene I — 

When storms ar* pass'd, 

And the white canvas. 



28 THE SAILOR BOY'S REPLY. 

Like sea-bird's wing is seen, 

Flapping the noble vessel fast 

Over the crystal sea ; — 

As like a line of light along 

The mirrored smiles of Heaven among 

The white foam follows free ; 

While Danger lies on the rolling waves 

By Zephyrs lull'd to sleep, 

And dread Destruction seeks his caves 

Beneath the azure deep ! 

" Oh, Christ ! how grand it is to see 

The sun descending in the west, 

And sinking down all tranquilly 

Into the Ocean's breast ! 

And when the Night begins to creep, 

What can be lovelier than to see 

The bright stars, from their homes on high. 

Stepping in silver 'long the sky, 

Or, with a thousand twinkling flames. 

Burning their bright and brilliant names 

Down in the drowsy deep ! 

" Tell me no more 

Of land or shore, 

It binds my boyish prime, 

But give to me 

The boundless sea, 

Where Nature walks sublime ! 



THE SAILOR BOY'S REPLY. 29 

In some ship's mast, 

There, firm and fast, 

Oh I let my hammock be, 

And rapture feel, 

As cuts her keel 

The big and briny sea 1 

"Yes! make my home 

In Ocean's foam, 

'Mong raging winds and waves. 

By craggy cliffs and stormy steeps. 

And near the muttering caves !" 



Im f at«ra|['s g^obdettc. 



'rpWAS mellow evening in the month of May, 
-L And the blending blushes of the dying day 
Were sweetly stealing from our leafy bower, 
Like fading crimson from the fainting flower ; 
When fair Katurah told this tale so dear. 
In silvery accents, to my anxious ear ; 
Then, coyly, tossing from her beauteous brow 
Soft, silken curls, whose amaranthine flow 
Fell fondly twining o'er her breast of snow. 
Through sweet smiles showering o'er my heart, 

she said. 
Like music syllabled, " Have e'er you read 
The lovely lyric, that I like so well. 
Lord Ullin's Daughter, by Hope's own Camp- 
bell ?"— 
And now, as if my answer having guess'd, — 
" Then were not friendship too severely press'd, 
Perhaps I might presume this one request — 
That in such bars of gentle verse you'd set 
The simple story of my novelette !" 
Fair girl ! how pleasantly thy friend complies, 
Or well or ill, as his power supplies, 
Here mayst thou read with thine own bright eyes ; 
If the lines enchanted, do not fondly turn 
Into admiration, as they beam and burn t 
(80) 



MISS KATURAirS NOVELETTE. 31 

" Not yet I not yet !" the brother said — 
" Have Meadie's maids assembled ; 

Suppose we walk, while thus delayed:" 
And speaking, see, he trembled ! 

Spoke Robert then in careless glee — 

"A pleasant stroll may steady 
My heart, in happiness so free, — 

Come, come, for I am ready !" 

And walking, now, they pass the gate, 

The viny lane are going, 
When hark ! those hasty words of hate, 

From traitor lips now flowing ! 

" Here in my heart — Here! Robert Reid, 

My blood-red oath has waited, 
Oh! never shall my sister Mead 

To one like thee be mated !^^ 

The dagger gleams ! and Robert's side 

With love and life is dyeing 
The earth, as ebbs his crimson tide ; 

The coward far is flying ! 

He sighs—" My Mead"— She hears ! 

Is there ! — her bridals 'bout her snowing. 
And she is but a throbbing prayer 

To flow, as he is flowing ! 

In locked embrace, or death, or life. 

Still dearer now than ever ; 
He calls his darling Mead — "My wife" — 

" To part"—" Oh! Robert, never 1" 



32 MISS KATURAirS NOVELETTE. 

" Alive or dead, still are we wed 1 
This dagger shall not sever, 

And thus with thee to the wedding bed 
I follow on forever 1" 

She said : and quickly circling wide 
The self-same dagger gleaming. 

The blade she buries in her side 
And lets her life-blood streaming ! 



Their dirge was rung by village bells, 
And still their tougues are sighing 

A faint, low chime of many knells, 
The song of Virtue dying ! 

Above him blooms a crimson Rose, 
His heart's devotion telling; 

And on her grave the Lily grows 
And smiles above its dwelling ! 

And maidens say, when shadows fall 
And gentle dews are weeping, 

Those flowers to each other call. 
While all the world is sleeping I — 

And, too, they tell, that sighs engage 
There, sadly, 'mong the grasses. 

And hint a tale of love and rage 
To every one that passes ! 



f k f ittle 6irl at Spnisl] lort. 



O'ER Spanish Fort the cannon's breath, 
With sounding shell, now scatters death ! 
"Hoarse thunders," from the mortar's throat, 
O'er day and darkness ever gloat. 
While 'long the red and bristling line 
A hundred leaping lightnings shine. 
And every element of war 
Rolls mingling in eternal jar! 
And yet, amid so much of dread, 
A little girl — I've heard it said — 
Stood near the Fort, unmoved and still, 
Save that tears her eyes did fill ; 
The soldiers saw her standing there, 
They thought of home, and had a care ! 

Said one to her — " My little girl, 
Why are you standing here. 

Amid so much of sounding death, 
And yet you do not fear ?" 

Said she — " Oh! sir, my mother heard 

That my papa was dead ; 
I came to see, from the Western shore, 

For she was sick in bed. 

4 (33) 



34 THE LITTLE GIRL AT SPANISH FORT. 

" She told me, when I reached the Fort, 
To tell the soldiers there, 
My father died, behind the works, 
And they'd be kind and fair. 

" She told me, too, I must not fear 
The big guns sounding nigh, 
That God would shield good little girls 
And would not let them die." 

Just as she spoke, her father came ; 

Though wounded in his arm, 
He caught his darling child and press'd 

Her to his bosom warm ! 

The love that filled that father's heart, — 
The joy that shook that child, 

Oh, I could never, never tell. 
It was too deep and wild ! 



mn liscr. 



WHERE yon black Prairie in pride extends, 
On its bosom bearing the fertile soil, 
That the mouldering matter of ages lends 
And the full grain grows by the merest toil, 
A miserable Miser reaped his spoil, 
And had garnered together a treasured heap, 

Far in quiet calm from the busy broil 
Of worldly bustling and confusion deep, 
Which throng the cities where brisk Trade and 
Commerce keep. 

II. 
In the little cottage that crowns the bill. 

All alone he dwelt and deem'd him free, 
With his million wealth, from all earthly ill : 
But, ah, that teiTible monster Death ! he 
Who proudly lords the land and sweeps the sea. 
Did mix him in a mighty storm, one day, 

And singing his songs, in the thunder's glee, 
With the live lightning leaped in horrid play, 
Destruction hurled, and snatched the selfish soul 
away ! 

(35) 



36 THE MISER. 

III. 

Where now his wide domain of goodly lands ? 

And precious piles of glittering gold ? 
Here ! — but where is he ? This example stands 

A wreck upon the shore of time ; behold ! 

And contemplate the truths it doth unfold : 
He who so loves his wealth as not to feel 

Love for humanity within his soul, 
But with heart cold as ice, and hard as steel, 
Can hear the hungry cry without a wish to heal — 

IV. 

Is as the mark of Cain on Nature's brow, 
And mars the charming beauty of her face ; 

He friendless lives 1 — his fellow-man his foe I 
Dreadful Death delights, soon or late, to trace 
Corruption on his countenance, and place 

The vile disgrace to life, low in the lea. 
There to lie forgotten ! to rot and waste, 

Like the veriest cur ; — his knell to be 

His last groan, and his putrid stench his history! 



A DITHYRAMBIC ODE. 



THERE'S something of sorrow in the sound of 
the sea 
As it swells o'er the sleeping shore, 
And the wail of the winds, as they rush o'er the 

waves, 
Seems as though sighing o'er so many graves — 

"Nevermore!" "Nevermore!" 
While the mists that were mustered in clouds from 

the caves. 
Now send down their showers, in pitiless roar, 
Solemnly chiming with the wailing winds, 
As they sigh. 
And they cry — 
" Nevermore !" " Nevermore !" 

Where the crags, like castles, tower grandly sub- 
lime. 
Looking sullenly down on the sounding sea, 
There, dreadful Destruction has taken his stand ; 
And, terribly striking the waves with his hand, 
As their white locks chime — 

" Nevermore !" " Nevermore !" — 
4* (31) 



38 THE SHIPWRECK. 

He clamorously oalls the great ghost of the dead, 
To dart through the darkness and dance on its 
head ! 

Making time 
With the chime 
Of the wailing winds, and the rush of the waves 
Through the throbbing mouths of the thundering 
caves, 

That lending 
And blending. 
With the lashing 
And crashing 

Of the roaring and raging sea, 
Now swell the grand chorus, 
Behind and before us, 
So mournfully, 
Dreadfully, 
Terribly, 
That seems the round earth rolling o'er 1 
Echoing, 
Bellowing, 
From shore to shore — 

" Nevermore!" " Nevermore !" 



mit 3mm of i\t fittle IJEib. 



THE shades were on the gentle lake — 
Save where the lovely Moon did make 
Her picture in the water — 
While o'er its placid breast did float 
A fairy-shaped and painted boat, 
With Indian and his daughter. 
The girl was by her father's side, 
And as the boat did softly glide, 
Her little, tiny hands she threw 
Into the lake of liquid blue, 
And often tried the moon to hold. 
There, swimming like a ball of gold. 

And tried and tried in vain. 
Yet ever as the boat did glide 
Lightly along the lagging tide, — 
As it would pass from shade to shade, — 
Still tried, this little Indian maid. 
With like result, again, again, 
To catch the pictured moon : 
Till, now, the boat was lost to view, 
'Mid shrubby trees, whose branches threw 
Such somber, deep, and sullen shade, 
That midnight, there, had safely made 
Her black, yet airy throne ! 

(39) 



40 THE LESSON OF THE LITTLE MAID. 

There is a lesson, here, I said, 

Now taught me by this little maid : 

Thus are we floating on life's sea ; 

And we are never, never free ! — 

Still bear our barks along the tide. 

And as through calms and storms we glide. 

We strive to catch the golden hour, 

Till it has baffled all our power, 

And then, at last, contented — never! 

We sink beneath the wave forever ! 



timni 'gak M §\\l 



MY soul grows dark and darker still, 
My heart is sadly moved, 
For oh ! it is a bitter thing 

To love nor be beloved ;— 
But let the shadows ever fall, 

Until my course is run, 
I'll think of her who once was mine, 
I cannot love but one ! 



II. 

Or far or near, on land or sea. 

Her face will oft appear, 
To warn me from the stormy past, 

But not to give me cheer ; 
For now, she loves me not, I know. 

Her heart, though once I won. 
But what can matter this to me ? — 

Since I can love but one ! 

(41) 



42' / CANNOT LOVE BUT ONE. 

III. 

We'll meet no more, my Lady Love ! 

Your heart, to me, so cold. 
Will, it may be, awake and feel 

When you are growing old : 
Then, you will think of that sad time, 

As set the Western sun, 
I came and called, you would not come, 

When, still, I loved but one ! 

IV. 

Ah ! what is life ? — and what is death ? 

Is there not time to be. 
When you shall answer why you clung 

To every one but me ? 
But let it pass ; 'tis over now ; 

Strange lights upon you shone, 
They wooed the current of your soul, 

When, still, I loved but one ! 



Farewell ! it is a dreary word. 

And sad to speak to thee, 
But 'tis the last you'll ever hear 

From wanderer like me ; 
I ne'er shall ask you back again, 

But when my life is done, 
My hand will be upon my heart ;- 

In death, I'll love but one ! 



/ CANNOT LOVE BUT ONE. 43 

VI. 

And after death, and my soul joins 

The light of starry skies, 
Or fondly floats on sighing winds, 

And mingles with their sighs; — 
When shine the stars, — when sigh the winds 

Upon thine ear, alone, 
Remember, that though 'mong the dead, 

I still am loving one! 



^txm m i\t Jeatl] 0f mx estccmcitr f ii!(jg 



OHl bright were the tints shed over her grave 
By her faith when we laid her to rest, 
As the sun's melting blushes, that tenderly lave 
His dark, cloudy couch in the "West. 

And sweet as the moon, at the death of the day, 
And the stars, which glitter bright by her, 

Did her soul, with its virtues, go flying away 
To the Heaven, which life would deny her. 

Now cold is the clay that wraps her form, 
But the loving, she left behind her, 

Shall treasure her name in hearts that are warm 
As they were, when first they entwined her ; 

And often, when evening's shadows shall fall, 
And sweetly the light winds are sleeping. 

Her pure, happy spirit shall tenderly call 
Her husband and children from weeping. 

Oh ! dearest of earth ! oh meet me — she'll say — 
Where the angels in Heaven are shining. 

All robed in white, for the wedding-day. 
And garlands of love are twining ! 
(44) 



llg lotfetr JcEr, 'tis ®I]cc! 



THE shades are dark that shroud my life, 
My fairest hopes have fled, 
And blooms of joy that fed my heart 

Have Avithered and are dead ; 
Yet o'er my breast a single gleam, 

Like lighthouse beam at sea. 
Still shines, to bid me watch and hope — 
My mother dear, 'tis thee ! 

II. 

True love may mean a thing that lives, 

And glows, and gilds forever ! — 
'Twas thus I thought, and then I sought, 

Alas, I found it, never I 
Yet still there throbs one faithful heart 

Will ever start for me ; — 
Though lone and wandering o'er the world ; 

My mother dear, 'tis thee 1 

III. 

Oh ! I have loved, and loved so wild, 
It burned my breast and brain ; 

5 (45) 



46 ^y MOTBER BEAR, 'TIS THEE. 

I'm sad to know I ne'er shall feel 

That melting- joy again. 
Of her I loved I am bereft, 

But still there's left to me 
A friend whom Death alone can part, — 

My mother dear, 'tis thee ! 

IV. 

My soul has drank the living light 

Of bright eyes, blue and fair, 
And never dreamed that aught but love 

Could wed with beauty there. 
Alas 1 those eyes, I saw them beam 

Like lightning's gleam at sea ; 
I know but one, whose e'er the same, — 

My mother dear, 'tis thee ! 



mj ftart 0f i\t Sabi Ml 



LAST night when winds were blowing cold, 
As we sat round the cheerful hearth, 
Little Laura, just four years old, 
Came laughing in her childish mirth ; 
And climbing up upon my knee. 
The little queen of happy glee 
Asked me to tell a story. 
She looked so gentle, sweet, and kind. 
She charmed my very heart and mind. 
And straight I told her of big wars, 
And of brave men who wore their scars, 
And of tall ghosts, whose wild huzzahs 
Might still be heard on every field ; 
But, most, I told the greater glory 
Of men, who fought and would not yield. 
But wildly leaped, on points of steel. 
In Death's deep arms all gashed and gory, 
Though many a lovely little girl. 
Just like sweet, blue-eyed Laura is. 
Was left behind in heartless world, 
With no papa to love and kiss. 
When said I this, I paused awhile 
To hear what would reply the child. 

(47) 



48 THE HEART OF THE BABY LADY 

I saw the tear fall on her cheek, 
And soon her gentle heart did speak : — 
" Oh, sir ! that girl is cold to-night ! 
Go find her with a great big light, 
Then put her in my little bed, 
I'll love her if her father's dead I" 
Such gentle words from one so young ! 
Such tenderness from her sweet tongue ! 
I thought I loved the child before, 
I love her now, oh, how much more 1 



Sflontitelk 



MAJESTIC Monticello ! Proudest peak 
Of Piedmont's rugged range ! to stand and 
gaze 
And contemplate thee, when the scarlet streak 
Of sunset — lovely as the ruddy rays 
Which tinge Italia's sky and poets praise — 
Skirts thine extramundane head with subdued 

Magnificence, is my delight. The days 
Of Freedom's glorious deeds are imbued 
And wrapt within thy being ! Of yore thou hast 
stood 

II. 

The home of Jefferson 1 the proud retreat, 

Where the great statesman, when worn and 
weary 

From public service, wrapt his winding sheet — 
His country's love — about him, and quietly 
Withdrew from worldly woe and misery : 

And thou standest now, the sarcophagus 
Of Greatness ! the tomb of Immortality ! 

And on thy bosom bearing, next noblest dust 

Of the world's mighty multitude, in sacred trust, 
5* (49) 



50 MONTICELLO. 

III. 

Thou dost proudly lift thy lofty head high 

Above the cloud-crown'd rocks of dimmest gray, 

Which frown, like storm-built battlements, on thy 
Thunder-smitten sides ; as if thou didst assay 
To climb even higher than the lightnings play, 

And bear his ashes onward to the sky, 
Grieving for his spirit, which stole away 

From thee, so calmly and so silently. 

When Virtue claimed from Glory those that could 
not die I 



A SONG. 



Suggested by his poem, beginning "My year is in the yellow 
leaf." 



M 



Y soul is sad as sad can be, 
I'm all alone — alone ! 



There's not a single heart that beats 
Which I can call my own ; — 

My pride is drowning in mine eyes, 
For those I loved are gone, 

They're dead to me, forever dead ; — 
I'm all alone — alone ! 

The hours hang heavy o'er my head, 

The days are long as years. 
That which charmed my life has fled, — 

I have no joys or fears ; — 
My breast is heaving like the sea. 

By boldest breezes blown, 
And Hope lies wreck'd upon my heart, 

I'm all alone — alone ! 

(51) 



52 LORD BYRON'S LAMENT. 

Like a silver queen the sweet moon swims 

And leads the stars on high, 
And all look tenderly down on me, 

As though they heard me sigh ; 
Fair Twilight, with thy twinkling eyes, 

To love thee I have grown. 
But still the void is in my heart, 
I'm all alone — alone ! 



^1]! ®dl|kSemmUcr! 



THE gentle time, 
The Yesper chime, 
How well I do remember ; 
The sun was golden in the West, 
And winds were wooing Natm'e's breast,- 
Ah ! well I do remember! 

II. 

How fond I moved, 

By thee and loved. 

How well I do remember I 

And how my bosom swell'd to know 

My love was cherished by thee so, 

Ah ! well I do remember I 

III. 

Those words of thine. 

That answered mine, 

How well I do remember! 

The gentle blush, the tender sigh, 

The tear that glistened in thine eye — 

Ah! well I do remember! 

(53) 



54 Aff! WELL I BO REMEMBER. 

IV. 

Alas ! my heart, 

That we did part, 

How well I do remember 1 

And though we ne'er may love again, 

The love, that lost itself in pain, 

Ah! well I do remember! 



f lattit 



THERE is an eye, whose glowing light, 
All sweetly pure and purely bright. 
Has made my spirit sigh to think 
What draughts of splendor it could drink 
Fore'er, if in affection free 
That jeweled orb beamed but for me! 

II. 

There is a lip, whose ruby hue 

Has searched my very being through, 

As Modesty and Virtue, there 

In silence said — "Forbear! Forbear!" 

Oh Christ ! how happy could I be, 

If that sweet lip bloomed but for me! 

III. 

There is a hand, whose living white, 
And touch of softness exquisite, 
Has made my breast, in silence, own 
A throb, which was before unknown; 
Oh! could that hand my beacon be, 
What honors vet might wait for me! 

(55) 



56 TO H ATT IE. 



IV. 



There is a heart, within whose well 
Of deep rich blood, commingling dwell 
Virtues, whose throbbing tones declare 
A world of love and rapture there! 
Oh! could my head forever be 
But pillowed there, what joy for me! 

V. 

There is an eye, a lip, a hand, 

And gentle heart, at One's command. 

Whose tender light, smile, touch, and love, 

Some manly soul's delight shall prove ; — 

My fondest prayer, whoe'er he be. 

Is, lady, that he'll live for thee ! 



%\lt 3m flf t^t 'gatlu fountain fuutcr. 



AWAY! Away!— 
'Tis break of day, 
The huntsman's horn is sounding ; 
Old Echo knocks 
Among the rocks, 
And sets the big-horn bounding ! 

II. 

Oh ! listen well. 

The sound will tell 
The course which they are flying ; — 

If 'long the lake 

Their way they make, 
You'll hear the thunder dying. 

III. 

But should they throng 
The mountains 'long, 
You'll hear the deep sound growing, 
6 (57) 



58 THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN HUNTER. 

Like waves which leap 
When tempests sweep, 
With " deaf ning clamors" roaring ! 

IV. 

Then, up ! Away ! — 

For grand and gay 
The big-horn herds are bounding, 

Their trampling thrills 

The rocks and hills, 
The solid earth resounding ! 



f §mxt 



WHEN sad forebodings in my heart arise 
And gloomy shadows settle on my soul, 
What sight so dear to me as Gussie's eyes ? 
Ah ! who like her can all my woes control ? 



II. 

As the voice of Spring from rough Winter calls 
The rose to leap and laugh its breath away, 

So her sweet smile ray anguish'd soul enthralls, 
And bids my heart to bloom in joy for aye. 

III. 

As the sunbeam strikes through the dark'ning 
cloud, 
And on its bosom the bright bow expands. 
So gleams her glance through Sorrow's shade, and 
proud. 
In the length'ning beam, Hope exulting stands. 

(59) 



60 TO GUSSTE. 

IV. 

Like the babbling brooks, whose soft babblings 
tell 
The pure yet stubborn source whence they do 
flow 
With prayer for her, e'er shall my bosom swell, 
And on whispering winds to high Heaven go. 



ktmmcr Inljitation t0 Uiss flia. 



LADY ! the lovely lake is glowing 
Like some broad silver bud that's blow- 
ing 
Beneath the splendid sun 
When the bright day has begun, 
And the sky 
In its rich dye 
Is like thine eye. 
Wildly now the trout are leaping 
From their deep delicious sleeping 

Within the gentle wave ; 
While the green trees towering lofty 
With their broad branches softly, 
In the lake their pictures lave. 
Tangling a truly tender shade, 
To woo thy presence, lovely maid ! 
Then visit the lake, oh, sweet lady bright ! 
When glowing by day or when sparkling by night. 
The face of fair Summer shall smile on thee there, 
And silvery-tongued songsters thy welcome 
declare ! 

6* ( 61 ) 



62 A SUMMER INVITATION 

II. 

Lady, the lovely lake is beaming, 

Beautiful with the gleaming 

Of stars which nightly bright 

In dancing diamond light 

Become a guest 

Upon its breast, 

And are caress 'd. 

Softly now the breath of even, 

Breathing from the vault of heaven. 
Pours its music on the ear ; 

And the wildly rapturous trilling 

Of sweet night birds now is filling 
All the air with notes so dear 

That fancy hears them but compare 

Wild wishes for their mistress there. 
Then visit the lake, oh, sweet lady bright ! 
When glowing by day or when sparkling by night. 
The face of fair Summer shall smile on thee there, 
And silvery-tongued songsters thy welcome 

declare ! 



gemembtr % lime. 



I REMEMBER the time, I remember the time, 
'Twas on a bright evening in May, 
And her voice was as sweet as the vesper chime. 
And her eyes were like stars in their play, 

When fondly she pledged, in her own native 
bower, 

That she lived but for love, and for me ; 
Oh, darling ! no favor or hate hath the power 

To force fond affection from thee 1 

These words in their gush, so endearingly sweet, 

In a rapture, I sealed in my heart, 
And I pressed her soft hand, and I said, " We shall 
meet 

When the sad war is o'er, and ne'er part !" 

I remember the time, I remember the time, 
'Twas when Winter was wearing away, 
I returned, but I heard not her voice like the 
chime. 
Nor saw her sweet eyes in their play ; — 

(63) 



64 / REMEMBER THE TIME. 

Yet a token was sent, which whispered adieu, 
For the frowns of a father are here, 

Still love nic, my love, as I shall love you. 
Far dearer than all that is dear ! 

Oh ! tell me, fair one, whose affection has felt 
How endearing devotion can kneel. 

When the heart that it worships has already knelt. 
Does thy father still think the heart steel ? 

Then let him remember how brightly it gleams 
When the live, leaping lightnings appear ; — 

How it gathers the bolt from the storm, and 
redeems 
All at once, with a crash, its career ! 



f n % |ail of Jcrtot Muxxm, 



OH 1 never has a nobler youth 
For his fair country bled, 
Than Herbert Warren, proud and brave, 
Who sleeps among the dead ; 
On Freedom's altar lying, 
A martyr nobly dying, 
Exultant, bright, and flying, 
So his bold spirit sped 1 

II. 

I have seen him stand undaunted 
Where dangers gathered most ; 
Marked him multiply his courage 
To match the myriad host ; 

And though the leaping thunder, 
Above, ai'ound, and under. 
Tore life and limb asunder, 
Still stood he to his post ! 

(65) 



66 ON THE FALL OF HERBERT WARREN. 
HI. 

Herbert is no more ! Yes, Herbert 

So gallant, yet so mild ! 
To other times he left his name, 
And lofty deeds, so wild ! 

Calmly quiet he is sleeping, 
While Freedom, sadly weeping, 
Bedews the mosses creeping 
O'er the bosom of her child ! 



f l]j setting Sun, 



'rpWAS on a soft September's eve, 

J- The winds were sweetly sighing, 
And far within the melting West 

The golden sun was dying. 
My Love beheld the ruby glow, 

The clouds with glory fretting, 
And in poetic rapture cried — 

" Behold, the sun that's setting !" 

I gazed in joy ; and turning then, 

To own the scene was splendid — 
I caught the light of two bright eyes — 

My admiration ended ! 
For there the living lines of light 

So many virtues fretting, 
Entranced me, so I quite forgot 

The sun in splendor setting ! — 

Or if remembered was the scene, 
'Twas in the prayer ascending — 

Oh ! like that sun, may her life be, 
Serenely sweet its ending ! 

(67) 



68 THE SETTING SUN. 

And still may Hope, with violet beams, 

E'er tenderly be fretting, 
Whate'er may darken coming years, 

Or cloud her spirit's setting ! 



^t ^ptkx '§mt 



A SONG IN RECURRING RHYME. 



NAY ! ask not why I tremble so 
Whene'er that name is spoken, 
And do not seek to know the woe 
Of one whose heart is broken ! — 
Yes, broken ! 
Sighing, 
Dying, 
Bleeding, broken heart ! 

II. 

Oh ! in that name there dwells a charm 

Which ever claims a token ; 
It shakes my soul with harm, alarm, 
As though 'twould break the broken ;- 
Yes, broken ! 
Sighing, 
Dying, 
Bleeding, broken heart! 

7 (69) 



70 THE SPECTER NAME. 



III. 



Then never may that specter name 

By thy sweet lips be spoken, 
To flush the cheek with shame or blame, 
Of one whose heart is broken ! — 
Yes, broken 1 
Sighing, 
Dying, 
Bleeding, broken heart! 

IV. 

Nay ! start not. Love ; — I will forget 

To give that Name its token ; 
We shall be happy met, — and yet, — 
Alas ! my heart is broken ! — 
Yes, broken ! 
Sighing, 
Dying, 
Bleeding, broken heart ! 



f §lantl]c. 



SWEET BLANCHE, 'tis true, but once we've 
met, 
And yet deep in my soul 
The light of thy bi'ight, beaming eyes 

Now burn beyond control. 
'Twill matter not, or time or place, 

I still shall think of thee; 
And, darling one, oh, tell me this — 
Wilt thou not think of me ? 

And wilt thou not, as stars shall shine 

To crown the twilight hour, 
Ask Heaven oft to watch and guard 

Me 'gainst all evil power ? 
Oh, how 'twould cheer my checkered life 

To know that one so fair 
Not only kept me in her heart, 

But kept me in her prayer ! 



ffl 






IN thee I taught my heart to feel 
I had a friend forever, 
Who'd follow firm, thro' woe or weal, 

And would forsake me never ! 
But, ah ! when Malice matched with Hate, 

And whispering tongues were trying 
My very soul to lacerate, 

And faithful friends were dying — 
Alas ! how vainly, then, I turned 

To thee to soothe my sorrow, 
For tears to quench the fires that burned, 

And smiles to cheer the morrow ! 
How sweetly pure thy life had seem'd — 

To Virtue how imposing — 
Could she have seen, as lightnings gleam'd. 

Thine arms my form still closing; 
Alas ! Avhen those fierce flashes fill'd 

My breast with sad repining, 
No cheer from thee my bosom thrilled — 

Thy love was not entwining ; 
Yet, false and faithless as thou art, 

How strange ! I love thee dearly ; 
And, when I hear thy name, my heart 

Reproves my will severely. 

(12) 



io Sttlk. 



OH ! the maid that I love 
Has a Latin name, 
Which in English means a star, 
And well does she wear 
The name without blame, 
For in Virtue's sky 
She circles high. 
And shines, indeed, a star ! 

Oh ! her voice is as sweet 

As the song of the sea 

Sweetly sung in the sounding shell, 

And her eyes are as bright 

As the diamonds of night. 

And dafezle wherever they dwell. 

Her thoughts are as pure 

As the prayer of a babe 

When pray'd from a fond father's knee. 

And her heart is as true 

As a heart can be made. 

And wide as the brim of the sea. 

T* (73) 



•74 TO STELLA. 

Long love I the maid of the Latin name, 

Which in English means a star ; 
Oh ! long may she wear the name without blame, 
And in Virtue's sky- 
Ever shine so high 
That of beauty the World, as it passes by, 
May contemplate The Star ! 



§\\ Wn |all flf €^l 6ill folIanHy, 



AH, why could not that beaming eye, 
Which had so often watched the might 
Of fiery foeman's flashing line. 
Still retain its living light? 
Ah, why so cold and stiff and still. 
As if forgetting now his will, 
That hand, across his pulseless breast, 
Which, firmly grasping sword, 
Waved in the front as he onward press'd, 
And, charging, gave courageous word ? 
Maker of Earth, the Sea, the Sun, 
Great God ! the secret is Thine Own ! 
Thou gavest light unto his clay. 
Best knowing when to quench the ray. 
Spirit of the Universe ! guard hira well, 
If he fought for freedom when he fell ; 
Mix his great soul with all thy light, 
And, like the radiant stars of night 
And " flowers wild," the world around, 
Let his name and deeds be found, 
Recheering freemen to the fight 
Till Liberty is crown'd ! 

(75) 



%a imlmtk^ fkHe, of |untsMl(e, gla. 



FAIR Phebie ! 
I'm so happy 
At the spell of glory, like starry sky, 
That glances 
And dances 
From thy brightly beautiful black eye, 
That I feel 
My senses reel 
And stagger to and fro. 
At the beaming 
And the gleaming 
Of a hope which, now, 
I must not allow 
To discompose me so. 
Come, come. Oblivion 1 like some kind friend. 
And tenderly, with thy dark wing, end 
My wildly rapturous dreaming. 

'Tis best! Oh, yesl 'tis best, I know ! 

(76) 



OF AN ESTEEMED LADY FRIEND OF AUTACGAVILLE, ALA. 



LADY 1 lover of dear, gentle song, 
And all that's pure and sweet, 
In this fair, flashing life, along 
Whei'e'er shall press thy feet 
May flowers ever freshly spring, 
And every good and lovely thing 
Their Queen attend and greet. 

Thy breast, I know, was never cold, 
The magic Muses warm thy heart ;- 

A thousand years, thou art not old. 
For youth and song can never part 1 

Thy frame may waste by slow decay, 

But song shall fling the years away, 
And young shall be thy soul ! 

(n) 



l0 t^e Same. 



LADY ! 'tis not for minds like thine 
To be enchanted by a line ; 
They find their pleasure in the face 
Of heaven ! — the smiling stars, 

Which shine in pure, unconquer'd place, 
Unmoved by Passion or its wars ! 



(78) 



Jin ^txa$ik. 



INSCRIBED TO MR. AND MRS. DANIEL STEELE, OF 
AUTAUGA COUNTY, ALA. 



LIE g'ently in thy little grave, 
Unto earth resign 'd thy form, 
Cold Death had marked thee, none could save, 
Yet thy soul he could not harm. 

Sweetly there light winds are sleeping ; 
Tenderly there the dews are weeping ; 
On thy little tomb they fall 
Noiseless as thy spirit's call, 
Ever freshly, daisies keeping. 

Sweet the spot, on earth the dearer. 
Thus binding hearts with pledges nearer : 
Even there, when death and love 
Eternal' join our souls above. 
Loved ones shall rest our bodies down, 
Ever mingling with thine own ! 

(79) 



RESPONSIVES. 



8 (81) 



t&itnitS. 

AS A TESTIMONIAL 
OF LASTING FRIENDSHIP AND REGARD 

TO 

CAPT. CHARLES L. GILMER, 

OF CANTON, MISS. 



(83) 



)t §t\\ik ^ixtim t^nt Stontlg Stole. 



BEING A REPLY TO " WE PARTED BY THE RIVER'S SIDE. 



THE gentle stream that sweetly stole 
Its course in music to the sea, 
But copied from my ardent soul 

My flowing love, fond one, for thee ; 
The broad, round moon, with silvery smile, 

The stars that twinkled high, 
Were witness that no thought of guile 

Should mingle with good-by. 
For, oh, I knew thy heart was mine. 

Though parting, then, by land and sea ; 
And, oh, I felt my soul was thine, 

And fondly evermore should be! 

II. 

I trembled when I held thy hand 
And gazed into thy sweet, blue eye. 

For, oh, I shrank from Fate's command. 
Which seem'd our very faith to try; 
8* (85) 



86 THE GENTLE STREAM. 

But when I kiss'd thy tear-dimm'd cheek 

And drank thy gentle sigh, 
'Twas then fond Hope found voice to speak 

The parting word, good-by ! 
For, oh, I knew thy heart was mine, 

Though parting, then, by land and sea; 
And, oh, I felt my soul was thine, 

And fondly evermore should be I 

III. 

In joy we've met, my darling bride, 

And life seems now a blooming bow'r ; 
Yet still I love the river's side — 

'Tis hallow'd by that parting hour. 
For there — yes, there — my breast did learn, 

What time no more shall try, 
How hard, sweet Love, it is to turn 

From thee with sad good-by 1 
Forever now thy heart is mine — 

My pride, my hope, is fixed in thee — 
Our lives shall mingle, mine with thine, 

And part no more by land and sea ! 



Ixltim in u ^Ibum 



BENEATH A BEAUTIFULLY PAINTED ROSE, 



THIS rose, now blooming on this leaf 
So lovely and so fair, 
Is like your picture in my heart 
That shines so sweetly there; 
And, oh, whene'er you see this rose 

You must remember, dear, 
My love is woven with its leaves, 
And clings forever here ! 

(87) 



il] ! 'git'ti let il]g Soul be iespnMng. 



A REPLY TO "A PLACE IN THY MEMORY, DEAREST !' 



OH ! ne'er let thy soul be desponding, 
When to what thou art, 
Affection is fondly responding 

From halls of my heart ; — 
'Twill matter not where thou shalt wander, 

Still, dearest, thy name shall be, 
The love-streaming star I shall ponder 
In the sky of memory ! 

II. 

When thinkest thou thunders have blighted 

Thy life and undone, 
Remember the stricken oak lighted 

By smile of the sun ; — 
Remember the green ivy twining 

In affection around its form, 
Will woo by its tender reclining 

The rage from the angry storm ! 
(88) 



oil! NE'ER LET THY SOUL. 89 

III. 

Thus, thus, should dark clouds be glooming, 

And winds wildly howl, 
Shall my fond love about thee be blooming 

And cheering thy soul ; 
For, dearest, through pain or through pleasure, 

Through life, till my latest breath. 
Thy name I shall claim as a treasure. 

And relinquish but in death ! 

IV. 

As pure as the airs which are playing 

In the golden West, 
Shall my fondest prayers ever be straying 

For thee from my breast ; 
As a brook in the broad desert streaming, 

As a star on the lonely sea, 
As the bow on the cloud brightly beaming, 

Such, dearest, I'll be to thee ! 



Jiim 



COMPOSED ON THE RECEPTION OF A BEAUTIFUL COPY OF 
SHAKSPEARE'S WORKS, PRESENTED TO THE AUTHOR BY 
MRS. E. T. W., OF MADISONVILLE, MISS. 



LADY! if thy curious eyes had scann'd o'er 
The extensive library of the Printed World, 
Thy generous hand never could have found 
A volume vieing, in my profound regard 
For stimulating Thought and magnifying Soul, 
With this fair copy of Shakspeare's works, 
By thee presented and by me received, 
For which I fain would leave some record here 
Of high appreciation and showering thanks. 
Shakspeare ! who can rival him in his flights 
And proud passages — the Mercury of the mind ! 
Springing suddenly from Poverty's lap. 
Like bright Minerva from the head of Jove ; 
Arrayed in Fancy's fine habiliments, 
With each keen weapon of conquering soul. 
He went walking o'er the fair face of Nature, j 

Timing his footsteps to his own sweet numbers. 
Pausing but to pluck illustrious thoughts j 

From the Valley's breast and the Mountain's brow; 

(90) J 



LINES. 91 

Or from commotions of childish man to draw- 
Enduring images of God's own truth, 
Which the throbbing spirit, that enlivens 
The broad beauties of the endless universe. 
The land, the sea, sun, moon, and stars and clouds. 
Had nursed, like wild flowers, profusely there. 
Wonderful man! the existence of thy mind, 
In its consummate glory, pervading 
With its splendor each playground of the Muse, 
Seems rather the rich conflagration 
Of some burning dream than poetic art, 
By labor carried to high perfection ! 
Koble bard! thy pictures, painted in the tone 
And fervid figure of immortality, 
Shall rival their prototype in teasing time, 
And claim fresh homage from each coming year ; 
For while the generations of men shall pass, 
And the circling globe along its orbit fly, 
Among all nations and in every clime, 
Upon every shore and upon every sea, 
Thy name shall be familiar as the living air ! — 
Thy fame multitudinous as the stars of heaven ! 



Ig S0ttl toflttl^ Jriitk of Pttsic goto* 



SUGGESTED BY LORD BYRON'S "MY SOUL IS DARK." 



MY soul would drink of music now ; 
Minstrel ! play some gentle strain, 
'Twill steal the fever from my brow — 

'Twill cool my burning brain. 
Then string the harp ! let numbers low 

In moonlit air be thrown — 
Mine eyes shall let their waters flow, 
My heart its love shall own ! 



II. 

Oh ! when the trembling soul is dark, 

The world looks darker still ; 
But Hope will rise, like morning lark, 

At music's melting thrill ! 
'Tis like the breeze that cheers the bark 

O'er bounding billows borne ; 
The gushing gale will swell the sail. 

Unless too sadly torn. 

(92) 



MY SO UL WO ULD DRINK OF MUSIC. 93 



III. 



The harp is strung — the numbers low 

In moonlit air are thrown ; 
I hear their mingling sweetness flow 

In sad yet silvery tone. 
Minstrel ! my breast grows calmer now — 

Now fade my cares and fears, 
And now my heart, that trembled so, 

Dissolves itself in tears ! 



Btxm 



IN REPLY TO A I'OEM ENTITLED " GOOD-NIGHT, 
V. F *****, OF BRANDON, MISS. 



FAIR Poetess ! let me thank you 
For those clear, gentle lines, 
Which now, like flowers blooming 

Among the leafless vines, 
Lie softly in my stricken heart 
And fill my breast with joy, 
While Memory's tongue is telling there 
How mother loves her boy. 

II. 

Oh ! may those tender tones of thine 

Be never, never still, 
For they were born within thy heart. 

And breathing its deep thrill ; 
They touch fond souls, like morning airs 

That kiss the song-bird's nest 
So softly, that with filmed eyes 

She pours her tuneful breast I 
(94) 



VERSES. 95 

III. 

Embodied in their music floats 

A voice of love so sweet, 
That, when they wake the Wanderer's ear, 

He stops his wayward feet, 
And turns to bless that faithful One, 

Whose every whispered breath 
Is still the prayer that God would guard 

Her son throug-h life and death ! 

IV. 

Thy harp is always sweetly strung — 

Its chords are fondly free ; 
But, oh ! they sound sweetest when 

Their trembling tells to me 
Of mother's love ! — that only joy 

On earth to mortals given, 
Which keeps the soul forever young 

And points the path to Heaven ! 



Fair One ! oh, strike those notes again, 

For when I hear their chime 
A calmness fills my breast like that 

Which steals o'er earth sublime. 
When Day has pillowed his faint head 

On Western clouds to sleep, 
And Twilight, with her starry feet. 

Is dancing on the deep ! 



§\ I Iroto |opMS h mg Jmmtn(f. 



SUGGESTED BY THE SONG, "OH, MV HEART IS GLADLY 
BEATING." 



OH, how joyous is my dreaming 
When rapturous Beauty's eye 
Upon my heart is gleaming, 

As the bow gleams in the sky ! 
My soul with Hope then blooming, 

Like wreaths which the May-queens twine, 
Dispels all wintry glooming 
And revels in sunshine ! 

II. 

How the future Fancy livens, 

Sweetly sparkles as the sea, 
When the star-beams leave the heavens 

To watch the mermaids' glee. 
If song, the while, but lingers 

Like a glory in mine ear, 
And notes from ivory fingers 

Awake each joy sincere ! 
(96) 



mt lose. 



& 



WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF A LADY WHO REPRE- 
SENTED THIS FAVORITE FLOWER ON A GALA MAY 
DAY. 



I AM the Rose, whose ruby lip 
The gentlest breezes sigh to sip. 
When young Night walked on twinkling feet, 
To murmuring winds and waters sweet, 

And birds that poured their song in showers 
I stole, as softly as fond prayer 

From saintly souls, among the bowers, 
And filled the world with fragrant air! 
The morning's beaming blushes shine 
To cheer this gentle heart of mine ; 
And when day melts in melting blue, 
And fondly falls the falling dew, 
The starbeams gild my dreamy dress 
With such a glow of loveliness 
That weary, watching angels rest 
Their burning bosoms on my breast ! 
My birth, my life, my tints so dear. 
Like fond Aflfection's trembling tear, 
AVhen beaming Hope, with sunny care, 
Lights up the bow of promise there. 
Might claim a crown, — but thine hath been 
Far purer, and I hail thee — Queen ! 

9* (97) 



ill %tq mg Jeart tax %\itt 



WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF MISS BETTIE «*****^(- 
OF FLORENCE, ALA. 



THY song so sad, yet sweet and dear, 
The prayer thy soul doth breathe, 
Shall in my soul like tendrils cling 
And Memory's garland wreathe ; 
And, oh, where'er my life is cast, 

On land, or stormy sea, 
Remember, as I say — farewell ! — 
I'll keep my heart for thee ! 

No giddy rounds in circles gay. 

No flatteries shall twine. 
My throbbing breast with purer love 

Than blooms for thee and thine ; 
And though my life is cold and dark, 

Though storms above me be. 
Oh ! I shall live to love and hope 

I'll keep my heart for thee ! 
(98) 



I'LL KEEP MY HEART FOR THEE. 99 

We may not meet again, 'tis true, 

But, oh, within my breast 
I'll gently fold thy tender love. 

And rock it there to rest ; 
Absent or present, it is the same. 

In sadness or in glee, 
In sorrow, joy, in life, in death, 

I'll keep my heart for thee ! 



€mt I €mM, \\w €lau^ ! 



SUGGESTED BY THOMAS MOORE'S 

" Row gently here, 
My gondolier." 



COME ! Come, my Claud, 
'Tis Cupid's fraud 
To dare yet seem to fear; 
While parents sleep 
Oh ! come and creep 
Into my chamber dear. 
But touch my lips of love with thine 

And I'll awake for thee ; — 
Oh ! sweetly, love, the stars shall shine 
To ffuide us o'er the sea. 



II. 

Hush ! hush, my heart, 
And do not start 

When bright Hope thrills thee so ; 
(100) 



COME! COME, MY CLAUD. 101 

Let not a sound 
Be heard around — 

Sweet thoughts, oh ! softly flow 
While my Claud comes with loving smile 

And claims his bride in me ; 
Step lightly, feet ! — farewell, old pile ! 
With love I'm on the sea ! 



(il] ! if tl]at €xmm §trir m\ Cl]atm» 



BEING A REPLY TO A SONG ENTITLED "OH ! LIST NOT 
TO THE CRIMSON BIRD." 



OH ! if that Crimson bird can charm 
This anxious ear of mine, 
'Tis that he sings of guileless hearts— 

Of hearts, sweet love, like thine ! 
If watch I Twilight's thousand eyes 

That twinkle so divine, 
'Tis but to pour my purest prayer, — 
That prayer, sweet love, is thine ! 

II. 

The darling tints of Nature's glow, 

As tenderly they twine. 
But emblem forth my throbbing hope,- 

That hope, sweet love, is thine ! 
My pride, my joy, my heart, my soul, 

What'er my life combine, 
Reply but to one precious name, — 

That name, sweet love, is thine ! 

(102) 



l^nt t^e MhU m Mailing SaMg. 



SUGGESTED BY "NEAR THE BANKS OF THAT LONE 
RIVER." 



WHERE the winds are wailing sadly, 
O'er the green and grassy mould, 
Sleeps the heart that once so gladly 

Beam'd in beauty on my soul! 
Closed that eye whose modest glory 

In each glance afifection told, 
When I faltered forth the story 
Which was dearest to my soul ! 

II. 

Sleep ! yes, sleep on 'neath the flowers. 

Fairest that the grave can fold ; 
And may years, like fleeting hours, 

Swiftly vanish o'er my soul. 
Like an April day, whose shining 

Clouds of somber hue withhold. 
Must my breast be, in repining, 

Till we mingle soul with soul ! 

(103) 



^ "it^mu k tilt Ml at €amxMm. 



INSCRIBED TO CAPT. WILLIAM KOBBE, OF N. Y. 



WHAT banner is that, so gallant and free, 
Now floating so proudly over land and the 
sea. 
With its stripes of white and its field of blue, 
And its glittering stars and its red stripes too ? 
Oh, that is the flag our fathers reared, 
Oh, that is the flag our fathers cheered, 
When from their fair land, and 'long the high 

seas, 
They rolled back on England her sulphurous 

breeze I 
And that is the flag we abandoned in power 
When blinded by frenzy in passion's red hour. 
Though the world has forsaken, lo ! still it ex- 
tends 
Its silvery folds, and it claims ns friends/ 
Old flag, we are coming, in love once again. 
To rally around thee and ever remain. 
(104) 



A RESPONSE TO C0NSERVATIS3I. 105 

Through the smiles of peace, through the thun- 
ders of wars, 
Our hearts shall be true to the light of thy stars. 
Old flag, may you flap — old bird, may you scream 
The alarm when the lightnings of foes shall gleam. 

And Freedom forsake you — no, never ! 
Old flag, though bathed in my blood and my tears. 
Old flag, may you float for a thousand years — 

Old flag, may you float forever 1 



10 



NOTES. 



(107) 



NOTES, 



I. 

THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN. 

" Hood, confident of success, boldly advanced to the attack on tha 
last of November, and the Battle of Franklin commenced." ... . 
" The rebels, though the canister and grape of the close batteries 
cut frightful lanes throughtheir ranks, refused to yield an inch of the 
ground thej' had so gallantly won, and a gladiatorial contest followed, 
in which the combatants stood face to face, thrusting their bayonets 
into each other's bosoms — and with clubbed muskets, and demoniacal 
yells, fought in the deepening twilight more like savages than civilized 
men." — Extract from "The Great Rebellion," by J. T Headley, vol i. 
page 538. 

The Battle of Franklin was, beyond all doubt, the 
most splendidly contested field of the late civil war. 
The multitudinous valor which the ever- memorable en- 
gagement developed would more than match the accu- 
mulated heroism of ages. It stands alone in tfee annals 
of the four bloody years like some crimson battlement 
of imperishable proportions, reared by the hands of 
gigantic martyrs, to tell all posterity of the glory of 
Southern valor, as well as the illustrious and complete 
sacrifice of " self" to the call of patriotism and devotion. 
The poem, which here attempts to celebrate the mighty 
engagement, was composed, in part, just previous to the 
conclusion of the rebellion ; when I submitted it to the 
scrutiny of Major Harry Innis Thornton and Captain 
Stark H. Oliver, both gallant otfiuers and perfect gentle- 

(109) 



110 NOTES. 

men, and for whose opinion on any subject connected 
with literature I entertained the highest respect. 

Their remarks, when they had given it examination, 
emboldened me to pass it to the public print in Mobile ; 
and accordingly, Mr. Balentine, the then highly accom- 
plished, generous, and gentlemanly editor of the Tribune, 
gave the poem insertion. 

With some slight alterations, and enlarged to twice its 
original length, it now, however, for the first time makes 
what may be termed its complete appearance. 



ZX. 

" Till in the Tropics, and in the Snow." 

When I composed this line I had a circumstance in 
my mind which I believe is as peculiarly poetic as any 
which I can now remember to have transpired while I 
followed " the profession of arms." The " Army of Ten- 
nessee" commenced moving from Florence, Ala., for 
Nashville, when the weather was cold and settled. It 
would have been impossible to have carried forward the 
memorable pieces of artillery had it not been for the 
regular freezing of the roads throughout each night. 
We had been in motion for several days, and finally 
reached a continued range of rising ridges just aside 
from the commencement of the Columbia Turnpike. 
The day was unusually cold, cloudy, and biting, and the 
worn and weary regiments were slowly winding their 
way, like a wounded serpent, up the ascent, when the 
snow suddenly commenced falling more thickly than I 
had ever before witnessed. Brigadier-General James 
T. Holtzclaw, who was riding leisurely along at the head 
of our regiment, at once seemed to brighten the expres- 



NOTES. Ill 

sion of his face, and in a tone of voice extremely cheer- 
ful and inspiring, repeated the glorious verse, — 

" The evening shades were falling fast, 
When through Alpine hills there pass'd 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with this strange device — Excelsior!" 

The effect was instantly felt by all who heard it, and 
the beloved commander was answered with a hearty 
shout. 

III. 
" 'Twas on the Harpeth's bloody marge." 

Probably it is hardly necessary for me to state to the 
reader that the little City of Franklin is situated on 
Harpeth River. 

I"V. 

"Where the locust grove still thickly stands 
And lifts on high its leafless hands." 

I take great pleasure in acknowledging how much 
gratified I am to know that these lines are warmly ad- 
mired by my old school- fellow and intimate friend from 
early boyhood, Mr. William F. "Watson. I appreciate 
his praise, because I am acquainted with the impulses of 
his heart. But to the note. 

The reader is requested to remember that I have here 
employed the poetic license of shifting the scene of the 
heroic death of Clebourne and others from the "gin- 
house" to the "grove," as there is certainly very little 
in any idea of the former eitlier to excite the imagina- 
tion or to engage the fancy; nor indeed do I believe 
that I have, by this liberty, detracted from that fidelity 



112 NOTES. 

in the description at which I profess to have sincerely 
aimed. 

The fall of any hero in hattle develops not only a 
glory for the particular spot where he fell, but mingles 
the radiance of his renown with the whole field of com- 
bat ; just as the sun not only illumines the precise point 
on the horizon where he " presents his fire," but scatters 
the pervading splendor of his beam throughout the uni- 
verse ! 



" Revenge and valor strove to part." 

General Clebourne, on an occasion of some enthusiasm 
in a little village of Alabama, during the Tennessee 
campaign, and while the army rested from the march, 
declared that he fought for " revenge." 

I was present at the time, with hundreds of other line 
officers, and thousands of soldiers, who well remember 
the impulsive and throbbing words of the mighty chief- 
tain, and how cheering, at that particular period, they 
were to the worn and weary spirits of the toiling army. 

Clebourne was incontestably one of the greatest com- 
manders which the pressure of the bloody years devel- 
oped.' Ever ready for duty — frank, free, brave, and gen- 
erous, he maintained his course along the shining tract 
of honor, and finally fell in the heart of battle at Frank- 
lin, as sublimely as the last colossal column of some 
temple of antiquity before the convulsions of an earth- 
quake. 



NOTES. 113 

For he fell in the dear familiar yard 
Of his native home." 

Perhaps I should mention that the conchision of tlie 
poem essays to memorize the splendid culmination of 
Captain Carter's career in the home of his youth, and 
on the very playground of his hoyhood — a fact which 
was familiarly known and spoken of at tlie time by the 
whole Army of Tennessee. 

"VIX. 

"Ambition, Honor, Virtue, Love, 
Like sentinels surround the grove, 
And guard with never-ceasing care 
The quiet sleep of heroes there !" 

These last four lines have been highly complimented 
by Mr. W. Lee Wilkins, of Lake Station, Miss., and of 
the firm of Dowd, Wilkins & Co., a gentleman whose 
ideas I not only respect, but of whose partiality and 
friendship I feel both grateful and proud ; and I would 
here gladly acknowledge how warmly I appreciate the 
naany manifestations of his kindness and favor which 
he has extended to me. May he long live a pure and 
happy ornament to his family and to the circles of 
friendship. 

The lines were suggested to my mind by that beautiful 

verse, — 

" On Fame's eternal camping ground 
Their silent tents are spread, 
And glory guards, with solemn round, 
The bivouac of the dead I"-?- 

being a part of a poem composed by a distinguished Ken- 
tuckianon the occasion of the collocation and transplanta- 
tion of illustrious dead from the fields of Mexico to the 
soil of their native State. 



1 14 NOTES. 



OCCASIONAL POEMS. 



I 
THE SAILOR BOY'S REPLY. 

When I composed this poem I had just finished the 
study of Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner," and was so 
taken with it that this piece may be merely considered 
as an attempt to write something after the manner or 
rhythm of that charming poem. 

I am aware that my little hero talks boldly for a "boy," 
and that the poem has other palpable and glaring defects, 
which I could probably now correct ; but it is associated 
with my earliest years in poetical composition, and so I 
give it as originally written in my eighteenth year. If 
the nerves of the stoical critic are too much shocked at 
this declaration of my persistency, let him divide some 
of his spleen with my friend Mr. George W. Jones, of 
Lake Station, Miss., whom I consulted in the matter, 
and who replied to the interrogation, " George, would 
you publish it as it is, change it, or would you publish it 
at all ?" " Well, Jim, I'd publish the poem just as it is. 
I do not think you've made j'our ' Sailor Boy ' talk any 
too rapturously or 'knowingly;' indeed, he talks ex- 
actly as he should, if he would match in his ' knowing- 
way ' with the ' chaps' raised during the war." 



NOTES. 115 

II. 

THE LITTLE GIRL AT SPANISH FORT. 

The circumstances upon which this poem is founded 
may be received as true. It was composed during the 
siege, and while the very air was palpitating with show- 
ering shot and shell. Dr. Eobert J. Turner, assistant 
surgeon of the regiment to which I belonged, coming 
up to the redoubt, told me of this little girl, who had 
crossed over from the western shore to inquire among the 
members of Gen. K. L. Gibson's brigade whether her 
father was really killed, as reported. He remarked that 
it was a fine subject for a feeling poem, and hoped that 
I would praise her in some public print. I promised 
him that I would do so ; and in an hour after read the 
poem as presented in this volume. Col. Bush Jones was 
so pleased with it that he requested a copy to present to 
his distinguished sister-in-law, Miss Augusta Evans, of 
Mobile, since married. 

I have always regretted that I did not learn the name 
of the superbly gallant and glorious little girl, for it de- 
serves to be placed, in imperishable honor, by the side of 
Mrs. Hemans's Cassabianca, who perished in the flaming 
canvas ! 

III. 

MONTICELLO. 

This poem I composed while a student-at-law in the 
University of Virginia, 1859-GO. With some little 
change of expression in the last verse, I have preserved 
the poem exactly as it appeared in the University maga- 
zine, over the signature " Du Halde," as being the gush- 
ing impression of my heart after visiting the tomb of 
the Great Declarer. 

Mr. Turner Clanton, of Montgomery, Ala., was my 



116 AOTES. 

companion, and will doubtless remember what a toil- 
some walk we had. The winding road, and so steep in 
various places, is hard to climb ; but the noble impulses 
which will fill the heart of the contemplative, the gen- 
erous breath of the mountain air, and the superb view 
of the nestling valleys of Albemarle, will more than repay 
the trouble of the journey. Monticello is an unfailing 
source of inspiration to the students at Charlottesville, 
as well as to others older and wiser all over the world. 
One of the finest allusions I have ever heard was made 
by the distinguished Mr..Voorheeves, in delivering the 
commencement oration. After, in some cursory re- 
marks, stating his sympathetic love for his free fel- 
low-countrymen, which overleaped the boundaries of 
State lines, he expressed his especial satisfaction in min- 
gling with them in " old Virginia," "where the very 
air is redolent with the history of Freedom " (and now 
gazing through the chapel window toward Monticello), 
"and while the 'burning bush,' in whose branches the 
God of Liberty first glowed, still blazes in full view from 
where I stand !" 

"Next noblest dust." 

My intention here is to place the great Jefferson only 
after the immaculate Washington, in accordance, as I 
believe, with the confirmed and settled opinion of the 
world. 

Whoever is second, none can be first but Washington. 
Whenever I hear the name of the ever-illustrious and 
beloved patriot, almost unconsciously I repeat the verse 
of Lord Byron, — 

"Where may the weary eye repose 
When gazing on the great, 
Where neither guilty glory glows 
Nor despicable state," etc. 



NOTES. 117 



RESPONSIVES. 



X. 

Many of the poems which appear under this heading 
were composed while I was a resident of Madisonville, 
Miss. 

If the bright eyes of the beautiful Alice, or the ac- 
complished Viola, should perchance glance upon these 
pages, they will, no doubt, remember the careless and 
hasty compositions, which would hardly have been 
preserved, and certainly not published, but for the 
high compliments which it pleased either to bestow 
upon them. I can now reflect that I had determined 
to abandon even the remotest attempts at poetical com- 
position; nor is it probable that I would have fallen 
through my determination, had it not been that my 
time was gliding as sweetly as the changes of a dream ; 
and my situation and associations Avere so peculiarly 
pleasant and fortunate for the cultivation of sentimental 
feeling and expression. Of the hospitable family of 
Thomas J. Smith, Esq., I had the honor, during my resi- 
dence there, to be a temporary member: enjoying the 
daily society of the warmest-hearted man whom I ever 
knew ; his wife, the very model of amiability and sweet- 
ness of disposition ; while the loving natures of his gen- 
erous children were perpetually fastening in my breast 
a living feeling of interest, friendship, and love which 
can only perish with the last vibrations of trembling 
mortality. Such agreeable circumstances as these awak- 
ened a sort of placitnde and languor of happiness, if 



118 NOTES. 

I may so express it, which naturally led me into ro- 
mantic contemplation and melancholy. The immediate 
impulse, however, to the composition of those poems, 
which may properly be termed " Kesponsives," origi- 
nated in my own ardent love for music. There lived in 
the little village which I have before mentioned, a lady 
exquisitely accomplished in this regard, with whom 
I was often associated, and in whose society I have ex- 
perienced some of the happiest hours of my life. The 
climax of enjoyment to me was to hear this lady sing. 
Over and over again would I solicit the cherished airs ; 
until, upon an occasion of like request, she positively re- 
fused to sing the " old, old words," remarking, " Indeed, 
I think, as I have sung for you so often, that you might 
atford to furnish me with new words suited to your sev- 
eral fsivorite airs." " Upon this hint I spake ;" and the 
reader here finds the effect of the pleasant and agree- 
able task which was imposed, however nicely or clumsily 
executed. 



